


Of Dying Gunslingers and Philosophy

by Aylwyyn228



Series: There was something taking care of me and you [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Despite the title, First Meetings, Gunshot Wounds, If you see it that way - Freeform, Mild Gore, No Character Death, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Canon, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Hosea was fucked.That was just fact.And Hosea had always prided himself on being able to face facts.In which Hosea is dying (again), and Dutch is running (still), and the night really doesn't pan out the way either of them expected.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde
Series: There was something taking care of me and you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090346
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Of Dying Gunslingers and Philosophy

Hosea was fucked. 

That was just fact. 

And Hosea had always prided himself on being able to face facts. 

The bountymen that he’d finally managed to leave bloody in the snow would see him in the ground after all. 

He staggered on a little further.

The snow was shallower around here, just brushing up over his ankles.as he headed a little further down out of the ice.

He could comfort himself that at least he was up in the mountains. It wasn’t much of a choice either way, but he rather have his bones scattered by wolves than vultures, rather die of cold than heat. If it came to it. 

Goddamn Jameson, shooting his horse out from under him. 

He’d lost everythin’, and he hadn’t had shit to begin with. 

The bullet that’d wedged itself into the meat of his thigh was bleeding sluggishly, slowed by the cold in his blood. But given it’d taken a wad of cloth in with it on its way, he doubted he’d be able to stave off infection unless he could get somewhere he could make a fire. 

Or a doctor, but hell was that a pipe dream. 

He wasn’t gettin’ anywhere near a town without also gettin’ a bullet between the eyes. 

He staggered on a couple more steps, before the ache and fire in his leg pitched him sideways into a tree. He grabbed onto the bark and slid with a groan to its foot. 

He leaned his face against the wood, and tried to summon up the energy to keep walking. He hadn’t eaten in three days with running, and he’d been half-starved before that. He was about spent.

He took a second to gather himself.

What  _ did _ he have? 

A coat, thank the Lord. He’d have been long dead already if Jameson had caught up with him half dressed. 

His pack was lost, canned food gone, along with the thin strips of smoked venison he’d managed to scavenge. His matches, flint and tinderbox were gone with it, and this whole county was so cold and damp, he couldn’t imagine he’d be too successful trying with just wood. 

As far as he could tell, his best hope was finding a cabin, preferably one that was occupied and already stocked, where he could deal with the bullet. 

Which led to his second major loss, his guns. Mostly they’d been left on his saddle, with his pistols falling casualty to Jameson’s boys jumping and disarming him.

He didn’t have shit on him ‘cept a hunting knife that’d seen better days as it was, and was now stained rust red with the blood of a half dozen of Jameson’s boys, and while it sure painted a picture of a degenerate thug, he didn’t much fancy takin’ on a homesteader and his double barrel with it. 

He shifted til he had his back against the bark, stretched his leg out in front of him with a bitten back grunt. 

He was goin’ to die. 

And it wasn’t fucking fair. 

Well... weren’t strictly true. He guessed all the lyin’ and thievin’ and killin’ had earned him a ticket southwards. 

But he ain’t exactly had much choice. 

He coulda been dead ten times over already, and he ain’t ever had a dollar to spare. His grandaddy had died with nothin’. His father had died with even less, and now he was gonna freeze or bleed or starve with nothin’ but the coat on his back and thirty four years of regrets. 

And it wasn’t goddamn  _ fair _ . 

Least he put fucking Jameson in the ground with him. 

He dragged his coat tighter around him and then wondered why he didn’t just strip the damn thing off and let the ice get him ‘fore the wolves did. 

He knew the answer, of course. 

He forced himself back up to his feet, braced against the tree, and waited until his bum leg stopped spasming and threatening to send him back down into the snow. He breathed, waited for the black to clear away from the edges of his vision and set off southwards again. 

***

He’d gone another few hours or so, enough to drop the world into pitch blackness, when he picked out the glow of a low made campfire through the trees to the west. 

For a second, he thought it was the cold getting into his brain, but after staggering to a stop the image never did resolve into nothing. 

He nearly dropped to his knees. 

It might be the only chance he had. 

It was late. Deep, deep into the night. With any luck, it’d be a lone traveller, asleep. There was no goddamn way anyone was wandering up here without a whole armoury on their back, so the only chance he’d have was stealth. 

Food was the priority. And medicine. Above everything else. 

He forced himself forwards, trying to step lightly through the snow. 

When he got up close, he pressed himself up behind a tree to try and get the lay of the land. 

He’d been right. 

There was one man, huddled up under furs next to the fire. Hosea couldn’t see much of him, but for the bulk of his body. 

He couldn’t see anyone else either, no one on guard, and there was a single bay horse dozing on its feet on the edge of the camp. 

One man. 

Thank the Lord. 

There was a pack at the man’s feet, and Hosea was moving before he even thought about it, creeping his way through the snow. He kept his eyes fixed on the man, but he didn’t stir. 

When Hosea reached the pack, he flicked the top open, and could’ve damn near cried with relief when he saw the brown paper stuffed inside. Pretty little wrapped packages of meat and bread. 

He closed it again and pulled it over his shoulder, ready to beat his retreat, and then he caught sight of the rifle laid up alongside the man. 

A rifle would be mighty useful up here. Rifle would be mighty useful in general. 

There was a warning voice in his head saying that he oughta get away with what he had, but really, what good would a few days' food do him? 

Could hunt with a rifle. 

Might be able to hold someone up on the road, get a few more supplies, a horse even. He didn’t much fancy trying to get away from here with the horse as well. It’d likely kick up a fuss if he tried to lead it away.

No, but with the rifle… 

Hell, he’d started out with a gun and a pack of food and not much more. 

He could start again. 

He started to creep forwards, trying to keep his steps steady and even. It was easier said than done with a leg that felt like it’d give out any second. 

He leaned forwards to snatch at the leather strap. His fingers caught around it and he started to drag the gun towards him. 

He almost had it. And then the barrel connected with a bottle, discarded at the man’s side, unnoticed in the dark. The glass rang. The man shot up. His hand snapped out from under the furs to close around the barrel. 

“The fuck?” The man said, still half asleep. 

Hosea lunged, knife drawn. 

There was no choice. He had to end this quickly… if he was goin’ to end it at all. 

But the sleeping man wasn’t slowed by cold or hunger, was quicker than Hosea could ever hope to be. Hosea slammed into him quick enough that he didn’t have chance to swing the rifle around, but he caught Hosea’s wrist easy enough, directing the arc of the blade to catch in the loop of furs that had pooled around him. 

Hosea was making a noise a little like an animal, grunting borne of effort and exertion and nothing more. His leg was burning. 

The man was swearing under his breath, grappling with him. 

But Hosea was a slight man at the best of times, and now, half starved and bleeding, this stranger had him beat in everything but desperation. 

It took all of a moment for the man to flip them, pinning Hosea into the ground with the weight of his body, the knife into the snow. 

In the firelight, Hosea could see the man better. He was young, and broad shouldered and strong, and Hosea was absolutely fucked. 

The man scanned over his face, surprise morphing into some strange bewilderment. “Who the  _ fuck _ are you?” 

Hosea didn’t answer, putting all his effort into trying to break free. But the man’s grip was unyielding. 

The man’s scrutiny left his face, running down his body. “Well, I never seen a bounty hunter look as half dead as you.”

“Ain’t a bounty man,” Hosea spat.

The man raised his eyebrows. “You've no love for government men then?” 

Hosea was swiftly losing the energy to keep fighting. “Don’t think any man as trades in killin’ oughta be takin’ the moral high ground.” 

The man laughed, suddenly. “Well, there we are in agreement, friend.”

The weight against Hosea’s wrist eased, as the man relaxed, thinking the fight was done. 

Hosea twisted like a caught rat, and lurched up again with his freed hand, trying to stick the knife as deep in the man’s neck as he could. 

The man grunted, caught off guard, trying to block the blow, But then his knee shifted against Hosea’s thigh, against the bullet hole shot deep into him... and Hosea  _ howled _ . 

Fingers closed around Hosea’s wrist again, and slammed it down hard enough that if it’d been ice instead of soft snow beneath them, Hosea reckoned the bones would have snapped.

A kind of sick resignation shot through him as his leg burned and spasmed, and his fingers refused to respond to the commands from his mind. He felt limp, and spent, and weak. 

It was done. 

_ He _ was done.

Still, Hosea was glad to know that the man was breathing a little harder at least. He hadn’t gone down with no fight at all. 

“Jesus,” the man coughed, as he leaned over to pluck the knife out of lax fingers. Hosea didn’t have much resistance to give, and the last of it fled as the man tossed the blade off into the darkness. He heard it crash through the vegetation and knew it was lost forever in the brush. “Lord, you got some fire in you for a fella looks as bad as you do.” 

The man was scanning over him again. Hosea half hoped he might get this over quickly with the pistol on his belt. 

The man grimaced as if he was weighin’ something over in his own head. “You went for the bag,” he said, slowly, “not the lockbox.” 

In truth, Hosea hadn’t even seen the lockbox, intent as he was on getting some food in his belly. 

“Can’t eat dollar bills,” he said simply, “and sure as shit not up here.” 

“True enough,” the man nodded. “I’m gonna put my hand on my pistol, but it’s just so I ain’t got to worry ‘bout you reaching for it as I let you up, alright?”

“Alright,” Hosea agreed easily. He didn’t really have it in him to try again anyway. 

True to his word, the man dropped his free hand to his holster, but he didn’t draw. He leaned his weight up surprisingly gently, glancing down at where Hosea was sure his jeans were slick with blood once more. 

The man settled back on his haunches. “I take it you seen some trouble up here.” 

“You’re clearly a perceptive fella.” 

“Trouble with the law?” 

“Maybe I was set upon.” 

“Maybe,” the man agreed, “but I reckon a lonely traveller accosted by thieves mighta come askin’ for help ‘fore he robbed it.” 

Hosea nodded, because he guessed there was some truth in that. “What about you? You’re no lover of the law either since you were expecting bounty men on your trail?” 

The man smiled. “I’d’ve been surprised. Left a lot of them behind me in the dust.” 

Hosea struggled to sit up a little, now he’d caught his breath. “We got that in common too.” 

The man nodded down at his leg. “Was it them that put that lead in you?”

Hosea nodded. 

“It bad?” 

“Bad enough.” 

The man hummed. He poked at the fire, absently, clearly thinking something over, and Hosea just waited. 

There was nothing left to do but wait. At the mercy of the elements, and this stranger. 

“Got a name?” The man said, without looking up.

“Matthews.” Hosea answered, and added “Hosea” at the man’s look. 

There didn’t seem much point in lying, and some dark, morbid part of him kinda wanted to die named… if this stranger was to be the last person who ever heard his voice. 

The man hummed. “I’m Dutch Van der Linde.” 

“Oh,” Hosea said carefully, trying to shift his leg into a position that weren’t quite so godawful. 

Van der Linde looked up from the fire, something amused in his face. “What’s ‘oh’?” 

“Thought I knew every man with a price in this state but I never heard of you.” 

Van der Linde’s face darkened. “That’ll change.” 

“I meant…” Hosea broke off with a hiss as he tried to peel back the fabric of his jeans from the hole, to get a better look at how bad he was bleeding. He breathed out hard. “I didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

Van der Linde looked a little pacified at least. Hosea didn’t much feel like gettin’ murdered by some two bit outlaw with somethin’ to prove. 

“I came up from the south,” Van der Linde said. “Through New Austin.”

“Runnin’ from your trou... Ah, Jesus Christ!” 

Hosea gave up as fire shot up his nerves from his thigh. 

Let it goddamn  _ bleed _ !

He dropped back onto his elbows and tried to breathe. Thought for one awful moment that he might be about to throw up all over Dutch Van der Linde’s camp. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Van der Linde said quietly, once Hosea had got himself back under control. “You want something outta that bag then go ahead.” 

Hosea lifted his head. “What?” 

Van der Linde started to settle himself back into the nest of furs. “Given you don’t look like you’re about to walk out of here tonight, and since I don’t much feel like shooting an unarmed, wounded man, I reckon I’m stuck with you for now. So, if you want to eat, go ahead.”

Hosea wanted so badly to refuse. Everything in his heart told him that a gift was a debt. He didn’t want to be in any man’s pocket. But he was starved, if he stood any chance of surviving he had to eat something, get some sleep if he could.

And if he was gonna bleed out in his sleep then it didn’t seem to matter if he died owing some stranger the cost of a hunk of bread. 

Van der Linde could clearly see him wavering, because he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started rifling through the furs. He pulled out a scraggly looking wolfskin and tossed it over to Hosea. “I ain’t got another bedroll, but here.” 

Hosea looked at it, and another pit of dread opened up in his gut. People didn’t do this. Men with a bounty on their head, and a trail of dead lawmen behind ‘em sure as shit didn’t. “Why?” 

Van der Linde just looked at him, eyes narrowed. “If you’re gonna die, gunslinger, then it’s gonna be a lawman’s bullet that did it. You ain’t done shit to me, yet, ‘cept almost die for a pack of food that’s probably worth less than a dollar.” He pulled one of the other furs over his shoulders. “That bein’ said, I sleep real light. If you come at me again, I  _ will _ put another hunk of lead in your gut and leave you for the wolves.” 

Hosea just blinked. “That sounds fair.” 

Van der Linde nodded, once, and laid back, huddling himself up in the furs. “If you’re still alive in the mornin’ then I guess we’ll decide what to do.” 

And with that, the conversation was over. 

It was bizarre.

Hosea sat in the dark, one hand on the pack and the other on the wolfskin. 

He oughta run. He needed to run, with the pack of food and the skin, away from this man who shoulda killed him already but hadn’t. 

Why hadn’t he? 

He wanted something. Clearly. Or he was a fool, who still believed in good samaritans, and that seemed a slim hope in a man who by his own admission had left a trail of dead men just to get this far. 

No, he wanted  _ something _ , and Hosea oughta make a run for it. 

But he was tired, and he was hungry and the fire was warm. He fished through the pack for one of the pieces of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. 

And he had to admit, for all he scoffed about good samaritans in the wilderness, that bread tasted a little bit like a miracle. 

He could maybe take half an hour to gather his strength, before he ran. He wouldn’t get far otherwise. He could just rest for half an hour… 

***

“Hey, you alive, gunslinger?” 

Hosea flinched awake, though he wasn’t sure if it was the voice or the hand against his cheek that did it. Either way, he flailed out just in time to catch the withdrawing arm with a slap. 

The man, Van der Linde, looking handsome and brighteyed for what Hosea assumed was early in the morning, was holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you weren’t… Y’alright?” 

“No.” 

Hosea felt groggy, sick and shivery. His leg was on fire, in contrast to the slick chill that was running over the rest of his skin. The bullet was doin’ its work. 

Van der Linde was frowning at him, from where he was crouched. “Reckon you might want to see to that leg, ‘fore you lose it.” 

Hosea bit back the obvious sarcasm. If Van der Linde had decided to keep him alive, then it was all his luck. It wouldn’t do much good to drive away his benefactor. 

Van der Linde ran a hand over the back of his neck, and it struck Hosea that he might be even younger than he’d thought. Maybe twenty? Twenty two, at a push. He looked a little green as he ran his eyes over Hosea’s face. 

Hosea decided not to contemplate what that implied about how he looked. 

Van der Linde met his eyes again, and for the first time he looked unsure. “I don’t… I don’t really know shit about this. What do you… what do you need?” 

Hosea winced as he pushed himself up and felt the burning in his thigh stab a little hotter. “Well, I was gonna dig the lead out with my hunting knife, but…” 

Van der Linde smiled, faintly, and glanced over into the trees. He pulled a small pocket knife out of his coat and held it out. “You did try to gut me in my sleep, gunslinger.”

Hosea took the knife. 

The fire was still burning, lower than last night, but hot enough to clean the blade. That was good. 

“Wasn’t gonna kill you in your sleep,” he said, tightly, as he tried to gingerly manoeuvre his leg into a position where he could get a look at it. “Only tried to gut you after you put your hand on your gun.” 

“Mmm, that an important distinction for you?” 

Hosea glanced up from where he was grimacing at the hole in his leg. “I suppose. I try to make an effort not to murder anyone who ain’t already trying to murder  _ me _ .” 

Van der Linde was watching him, intently. “The timing’s all that matters then?” 

“That’s what the law says.” 

Van der Linde hummed. “What the law says wouldn’t make much difference to me, if I was stone cold dead this morning.” 

“True enough. You gonna keep on your philosophy lesson, or you gonna let me figure this out?” 

Van der Linde raised his hands again, but there was a smile across his face this time. “Sorry.” 

There was no use putting it off anymore. Hosea went for his buttons. 

“Oh,” Van der Linde said, looking away, “you don’t wanna cut ‘em?”

Hosea just looked at him, and then pointedly around them. “What? Do you want me to shit out another pair? It’s fucking winter.” 

Van der Linde frowned. “I can give you another pair.” 

Hosea couldn’t help but laugh, looking at the kid’s stocky frame. “Thanks, but I don’t reckon they’d fit.” 

Van der Linde shrugged, easily, and kept his eyes averted as Hosea, with the wolfskin giving him a bit of privacy, eased the fabric down away from the wound. It looked worse bare. The edges were ragged, almost black where the flesh had torn. It was not a clean shot.

Hopefully the bullet had stayed together though. He was in a whole heap of trouble if it’d come apart inside him.

Still, there was nothing for it but to try. 

Hosea leaned forwards and pressed the knifeblade into the base of the campfire. He held it there for a moment, glanced over at the kid. “Got any whiskey?” 

“Yeah.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Van der Linde start fishing around in his things. When the kid found it, he glanced obviously at the knife in the fire and took a swig before he held it out. 

Hosea laughed and took it with his free hand. “You mightn’t want to watch, kid.” 

“Gotta learn somehow.” 

That was true. 

If the kid was keen on living this kind of life, then eventually he was sure to catch a bullet. 

Hosea pulled the knife back, breathed out once, and then dug the blade into the wound. 

The pain was indescribable, shooting through him like fire up his nerves. He had his teeth clenched so hard, he was worried he might crack them. 

But it didn’t take him long to find the bullet. 

Digging under it was almost worse than the initial shot. He was breathing hard through his teeth, making a noise like a whining dog, but he felt it shift. He searched the wound with the nails of his other hand, through the slick of new blood, but he found it. 

He dragged it out, dropping the knife to the side, and holding the bullet up to make sure it hadn’t sheared apart when it hit. But no, it was whole. He pulled the scrap of fabric away from it, and laid that on a patch of clear skin on his thigh. That looked whole too. 

Thank Christ. 

He was about a minute away from throwing up. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans and grabbed the bottle. He took a swift swig out of it and then upended the remainder over the wound, hissing in a breath through his teeth as it  _ burned. _ Again. 

But it was over. 

The worst was over.

He slumped back against the furs as he waited for the fire in his nerves to ease. “I’ll owe you for it,” he said, shaky, through his teeth. 

Van der Linde looked ashy pale. “You got some grit, I’ll give you that, for all you look half dead.” 

Hosea laughed. It came out hoarse and strained. “I look that bad?” 

“Bein’ honest, I thought you were dead when I woke up.” 

“Christ.” 

“You need help wrappin’ it up?” 

“Nah, I just need a minute.” 

Hosea let his breathing slow, and then he sat up to finish with the wound. It felt better already. Less full of  _ wrong _ .

He nodded his thanks for the pouch of scraps Van der Linde tossed over to him. 

The sick feeling in his gut hadn’t gone away. Van der Linde would want something in return for all of this, but he wasn’t in much of a position to refuse. Better to let it play out for now. 

“How long you been in this life?” Van der Linde asked, into the silence, just as soon as Hosea had got his pants back on. 

Hosea looked at him. Here it was. 

“‘Bout fifteen years,” he answered carefully, “a little longer, maybe more like twenty, depends on when you started counting.” 

Van der Linde nodded, like that was about what he was expecting, and Hosea guessed watchin’ a man dig a bullet outta his leg would give rise to certain expectations about his experience. 

“Your daddy get you into it?” 

Hosea laughed. “No,” then thought about it, “I guess, in a round about way. He was a no good son of a bitch. But he wasn’t around long enough to take me out thievin’, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then why d’you do it?” 

Hosea frowned. “It’s a little early in the mornin’ for this kind of talk.” 

Van der Linde met his eyes. “You can only talk about killin’ folks for money when the sun’s gone down? What? Does it offend your sensibilities?” 

He was trying to get a rise. Hosea didn’t know why, but that’s what he was doin’. Unless Van der Linde was just cantankerous in general. 

The reasoning didn’t matter much, in the end. If Van der Linde turned out to be hotheaded, and took against him, then even with his leg bandaged up, it would be a short fight. 

“What is it you want?” Hosea asked. “You winding up to somethin’, I see that. Now, you ain’t wantin’ payment because,” he gestured around him, “you can see what I got wouldn’t be worth diggin’ the grave for me, so what is it?” 

Van der Linde’s glare was intense, Hosea couldn’t quite figure if it was angry though. “I’m tryin’ to understand what you need.” 

Hosea blinked, and then laughed. “What I need is easy enough, kid. I need a warm bed and a belly full of gin, and preferably a fucking doctor.” 

Van der Linde laughed, suddenly, like that was an answer he hadn’t considered. He fished a cigar out of his coat. “What you deserve then.” 

“I  _ deserve _ to dance on a rope. What’s your point?  _ You _ gonna dispense justice, outlaw? You figure yourself a hangman as well as a judge?” 

“No,” Van der Linde shook his head. “But you gotta know, that for fellas in our line of work, the reasoning is important. So, if you’ll oblige me, after I not only refrained from killin’ you but also kept you alive to see another day, what reason have  _ you _ had for murdering folks?” 

“Mostly they were tryin’ to kill me right back.” 

“That,” Van der Linde pointed his cigar emphatically at Hosea’s chest, “is fair reason in my book. Why else?” 

Hosea shrugged. “They had somethin’ I wanted, and that I couldn’t persuade them to part with.”

Van der Linde shook his head as he took a drag from the cigar. “Survival of the fittest is for the wolves.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows. “You’re well read for a fella with a price on him.” 

“So are you, apparently.” 

Hosea smiled. He guessed that was true. “Go on then, philosopher. Why are we better than the wolves?” 

Van der Linde sat back, frowning. “I never said we were better than the wolves. Wolves do what wolves do. That’s just nature. It’s when men behave like wolves, that’s…” He cut himself off with a laugh. “But that’s another conversation entirely. We were talkin’ about you.”

“So we were, though you don’t seem to be able to decide what answer you’re looking for.” 

Van der Linde frowned again, and took another drag of his cigar, thinking. “I guess what I’m looking for is… is a kindred spirit.” 

Hosea raised his eyebrows, as he suddenly  _ realised _ . “A kindred spirit? Good God, I never thought I’d see the like.” 

Van der Linde scowled. “What?” 

“An idealist, who thinks he’s an outlaw.” 

Van der Linde’s scowl deepened. “There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ an idealist. If the world was filled with more idealists, then there’d be less greed, less poverty-”

“Idealism is all well and good ‘til you ain’t got food in your belly, and then we’ll see how long it lasts, kid. All men are wolves when they’re starvin’, all the rest is just how people kid themselves that they’re better.” 

Van der Linde just looked at him. “But that’s just horseshit, and you know it.”

“Why is it?” 

“Because you didn’t kill me last night.” 

Hosea laughed harshly again. “I don’t know if there’s somethin’ broken in your memory, kid, but I tried my damnedest.” 

Van der Linde shook his head. “If you’d’ve wanted to, you’d’ve snuck right up on me and put your blade in my throat. You only went for me after I caught you goin’ for the food and the gun. But if you’d’ve killed me outright, you could’ve walked away with everything. So why didn’t you?” 

Hosea opened his mouth, then shut it again. 

Why hadn’t he? Because he hadn’t thought of it. He could’ve killed the kid in his sleep, but honestly, the thought didn’t enter his head. 

Because he didn’t have a gun, he tested the thought. If he’d been carrying, would he have shot the kid in the back from the trees and robbed him blind?

Something at the back of his head said yes, but did he  _ want _ that answer to be yes? Really?

Van der Linde laughed, suddenly, presumably at the expression on his face. “I knew it.” He stubbed out his cigar in the snow. “Listen, I was plannin’ on stayin’ out in these mountains another week or so, but between you and me, this cold’s killin’ me, so how’s about you and me head back over the pass and set up just outside that little frontier shithole I passed on my way up?” 

Hosea blinked. “What?” 

“Be rich pickings from the ranchers down there. You can ride, of course, but even with me on foot we oughta make it within the week.” 

“Kid, what are you talkin’ about?” 

“I told you,” Van der Linde said, earnestly, “I been lookin’ for a kindred spirit. It’s no life, just wandering alone. That’s just survival. But with other people? People fightin’ for the same damn things. That’s living, friend.” 

“Dear God, you are so young.” 

Van der Linde puffed up, all indignation again. “Well, maybe I am. And maybe I am just full of shit, but tell me this, gunslinger, you been living like this for fifteen years, all on your lonesome? How much of that time you spent on the edge of dyin’, huh?”

“Now wait a minute-” 

“You been so caught up in the surviving, when was the last time you felt like you were living?” 

Hosea opened his mouth, and he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. 

Because last night he’d been pretty damn certain he was going to die. And dying alone, with nothing in the world and no one to even bury him sounded like a pretty shitty end, all things considered. 

Thirty four years, and what he had to show for it was a bloody leg, a stolen bag of food, and no fucking hunting knife. 

At least if Van der Linde took him into town to die, he might end up in the fucking churchyard.

Van der Linde looked like he’d already won. He grinned the easy, charming grin that he had, which Hosea bet made him popular with the ladies. “Plus, friend, if you don’t mind my saying, you ain’t got a whole lot of choice right now. But if we head down that mountain together, get you seen by a doctor, spend a couple of weeks bleeding that down dry? Then if it doesn’t work out, we part ways and all’s even. What do you say?” 

Van der Linde held out his hand, and he looked like he’d already won, because he  _ had _ already won, goddamn him. 

Hosea sighed. A horse was a horse, and a doctor was a fucking doctor, and all of it was better than nothing. He took Van der Linde’s hand. “Alright, philosopher, have it your own way? I guess you’ve got two weeks to convince me on the value of kindred spirits.” 

Van der Linde grinned. “I’ll have you by the time we hit town.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is!
> 
> That was a struggle to write. It was surprisingly difficult to try and square the characterisation of Dutch and Hosea from the game, with the way the characters describe themselves in the past (which is presumably biased), and the fact that they were much, much younger, and therefore couldn't have the same life experience as their older selves. 
> 
> Having said that, I really, really enjoyed trying! 
> 
> I'm hoping that I managed to find a kernel of the people they would become!
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
